


if i shiver, keep me warm

by letterfromathief



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camping, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterfromathief/pseuds/letterfromathief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trip had been planned months ago, months before this moment where Emma rests on her knees across from him, hands fumbling with the zipper of her sleeping bag, and her back pointedly turned away from Killian so he can stare at her unabashedly and she doesn’t have to see him doing so. (CS + exes sharing a tent)</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i shiver, keep me warm

**Author's Note:**

> [blondecrowns](http://blondecrowns.tumblr.com) asked for cs + exes sharing a tent so here it is

The trip had been planned months ago, months before this moment where Emma rests on her knees across from him, hands fumbling with the zipper of her sleeping bag, and her back pointedly turned away from Killian so he can stare at her unabashedly and she doesn’t have to see him doing so.

Which, he finds, is a good thing because when he looks at her, it’s all painful longing and sad eyes, and it’s too pathetic for words - and far too pathetic for acknowledgement.

“It was a mutual breakup,” they said.

“It’ll be fine. We’re not at war,” they said.

If the destruction of their relationship can be counted as a “mutual breakup,” rather than Emma walking out the door and him finding woe at the bottom of the bottle instead of the solace he craved, then maybe it _is_ fine that he’s looking at her and she’s not looking at him.

The scrape of the broken zipper chips at him until he breaks and says, “Here, let’s switch bags. That’s going to annoy the hell out of you, Emma.”

“It’s not. I’ll be fine.”

“Then stop pulling at the zipper,” Killian says.

He watches her hands shake, like she wants to tighten them on the zipper but can’t stop the tremors. Grabbing her hands, rubbing them between his own would be inappropriate, but he still reaches out, only to stop his path at the last moment, grabbing at the sleeping bag instead.

“You’re going to be cold,” Emma says finally.

Even though she let go of the sleeping bag without a fight, there’s still some left in her because she finally twists on her knees and looks at him, mouth set in a determined line. She doesn’t voice whatever argument is resting on her tongue, though Killian wishes she would. It would give him something else to focus on, rather than the flicker of her gaze over his shoulder, above his head, down to his own bent knees, anywhere but directly at him.

“You’re going to be cold,” she reiterates.

Standing to her feet, she hunches over so she can walk to the exit of their rented tent and make her way out of it. He watches her until she zips it shut behind her and then he gets to it, switching the sleeping bags, setting up her bed for her so by the time she gets back, she can just slide right in, turn her back to him so he can stare at her as much as he wants, and she doesn’t have to see him doing so.

-

He gets up once in the middle of the night, grateful that the zipper is broken if only because he doesn’t have the noise waking her from her sleep. He returns fast enough that the first droplets of rain don’t catch him and he’s safe within the tent when it really turns wet, the rain splashing against the tent walls.

“Killian,” Emma calls out.

He throws his head back and then turns to look at her where she’s peeked her head out from beneath the sleeping bag cover, her eyes on his chest instead of his face.

“I woke you. I’m sorry.”

“No, you didn’t. It’s just that I was wrong. I’m the one that’s cold,” she says.

She scrunches up her face and he freezes in his tracks, caught by the twist of her nose and her tightly shut eyes.

“Can you join me?” she asks.

His reply is instantaneous. “Yes, of course,” he says, crawling across the sheeted bottom of the tent to her side. He drags his sleeping bag with him.

“For added warmth,” he tells her but what he really means is, _I won’t touch you, I swear, I swear._

Throwing the other sleeping bag over her, Killian takes a moment to collect himself before he slides in beside her, mindful of the distance he’s putting between them, enough so she can stretch out her arms and legs if she wants and still not have to touch him.

His sleeping bag is huge, he realizes, but it always was meant for two. Zipping the side shut behind him, he lays on his back and stares at the tented ceiling, watching the shadowed raindrops slip and fall from the roof down the sides.

Emma sighs, and says, “Thanks, really.”

He listens to the rain for as long as he can before it becomes too much to ignore her breathing beside him and how the sound is so much easier now than it was before he made his bed beside her. Killian doesn’t _want_ to analyze why that is, but his head has already decided he isn’t going to get any sleep no matter how close he presses himself to the zippered edge of the sleeping bag, so he might as well let his heart have its way, and his heart _wants_ to think it’s because of him, because he makes her feel more than warm.

This is going to be a rough night.

For longer than he would’ve guessed possible, Killian resists looking over at her, but when Emma shifts in her sleep, he twists his head to the side, his hands instantly fisting together at what he sees, her back to him, one arm stretched out beneath her pillow, the other hidden beneath the sleeping bag. Her hair is a messy coil around her head and neck which is strangely captivating - or he just misses her so much that even that is entrancing to him.

Emma makes a noise and he stares as her ear comes into view, her head lolling back towards him. She doesn’t open her eyes as she rolls over to face him. Her jerks his head back towards the ceiling. It really is raining now, torrential enough to indent the tent roof.

Her toes are cold when she moves in and presses them against his ankle and it’s such a familiar feeling to have her trying to slip her feet beneath him and steal his warmth that he lifts up without thinking so her feet can find the spot they always rested at, even if it means his legs are going to have that crick in them when they wake up. The one he’ll have to massage himself, even though her fingers were always better at it - _‘s not a lie, Emma, you’ve a gentler touch than I_.

Killian doesn’t dare look over at her when she sighs and whispers, “Thanks, I know it’s -”

“It’s fine,” he says.

“I’m taking advantage,” she says.

“It’s fine,” he repeats.

“Killian, don’t let me do this.”

She’s begging, he realizes, and it may be the dark of night, but it dawns on him that she might be in as much trouble as he is. It’s not a new thought - he had it in the car ride over here, when she was so quiet but would shift every time he spoke. He had the thought during the hike when she not only let him take her hand to help her up a particularly rough area but squeezed his before releasing him. And it had more than just occurred to him at dinner when she passed him the roasted marshmallows, having ripped half off of his like a dare for him to say something.

He says something.

“It’s fine,” he stresses.

“Would you look at me when you say that?” she demands.

He pulls one of _her_ signature moves and looks over at her, sees her chin pressed against the top of the sleeping bag cover and locks his eyes on her mostly covered ear, the tangle of blonde hair around it.

“You were all up for staring at me before and now you won’t even look at me properly, goddamnit, Killian -”

Killian twists into her too fast and he has to reach out for her hip to steady her before Emma falls onto her back and her feet might’ve been cold but the bare skin of her hip is not and he was sure she was wearing clothes when he slipped in beside her.

“Where are your pants?” he asks.

She giggles - at a time like this, she actually giggles and it makes his jaw tic and his head hurt with the pounding he knows should be happening in his chest instead, all racing heartbeats as he listens to the sweet sound of her amusement, but it’s at his expense, so the pounding remains in his head and not his heart.

“I’m wearing pants,” Emma says finally. “You just pushed them down when you grabbed me.”

Staring at her ear isn’t helping now, not that it was helping a moment ago anyway, so he stares at the barely visible freckles on her cheek and slowly raises his gaze to hers.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” he says.

A beat passes where Killian looks in her eyes and tries to find all his favorite colors in the dark. Her hand covers his - and another beat passes, two, three when she takes his hand and curls his fingers around the waistband of her pajamas.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she says.

While they pull up her pants, Killian probably tugging them higher than she was wearing them, Emma closes her eyes, her breathing going uneven.

Confused at the change, he says, “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything -”

He quiets so she completes his sentence for him and says, “Wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong.”

She breathes, more ragged than before and she might be crying; he can’t tell with her eyes closed. Killian presses her down onto her back, rolling with her so he can rest on one elbow beside her and look down at her still closed eyes.

Emma has hair in her face. He sweeps it back behind her ear and her breathing evens just a bit, too teensy to be noticeable - and yet he notices the way her nose stops flaring so much and her lips part to allow the escaping breath.

“What’s wrong?” he prods.

“You want to kiss me.”

He nods even though she can’t see.

“I want you to kiss me.”

No surprise there, not really. At least now that he’s certain. Emma _is_ crying, the tears held back only because she won’t look at him - like she’d dare not look him in the eyes lest he know the truth.

Killian moves in closer, and asks, “Truth or dare, Emma?”

Her laugh is broken, her response barely more than a whimpered, “Truth.”

“Do you miss me?” Killian says.

She opens her eyes and he can see the colors now, all his favorites shining back at him behind wet eyes. He swipes at a tear running down her cheek, and she nods her response, _yes, yes, yes, I miss you, I do._

“Truth or dare?” she asks.

Emma leans into his touch and her leg stretches out tentatively, her toes brushing against him again.

“Dare,” he says.

“Kiss me?”

They move into one another at the same time, his hand still cupping her cheek as he lifts her head off the pillow to make the kiss easier. Killian misses her mouth, not intentionally, his dry lips brushing against her cheek instead. She draws a ragged breath, just like before and reaches for him, her hand tangling in his shirt.

Trying again for her lips yields the same result, as Emma moves, tilting her head higher so his mouth brushes her chin. He takes a different path, leading away from her lips, dipping his head to press kisses to her neck, as soft as he can be. Quiet kisses so he doesn’t miss the little noises she makes in the back of her throat, the sounds plaintive and sweet.

“I missed you so much,” she says.

Killian presses his reply into her skin. “I missed you, too,” he says in between kisses to the softer skin beneath her ear. He nuzzles her hair, kisses a little higher, right at her earlobe. “I was -”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I am -”

He cuts himself off this time, pulling back from her. She lets go of his shirt, eyes blinking rapidly around another tear and he’d kiss them all away, _will_ as soon as he says, “I’m yours, still.”

“Forever and always? Yeah, same,” Emma says.

It’s an attempt at casual that fails spectacularly, drawing a smile to his lips instead. She moves, reaching out to grab his arm, her fingers trembling as she traces circles into his elbow.

Emma giggles again and the sound doesn’t ache anymore, just makes him want to press kisses to her lips this time, draw heat to her skin so her feet aren’t so cold on him anymore.

“Someone’s going to have a good laugh about this in the morning,” Emma says.

“You? I missed your laugh,” Killian says pathetically.

Luckily, she doesn’t put words to it, just says, “I was thinking David, Ruby -”

“Don’t think about them.”

And really, now, he’s truly all pathetic longing and sad eyes, more than he was before her confession because he’s desperate now, desperate to hear -

“Should I think about only you? I’ve been doing that for months,” she admits, another spectacular fail at casual.

She’s just not good at this, but neither is he.

“I missed you,” Killian says again.

“Miss me a little closer? I’m still cold,” Emma says.

Somehow the kiss takes them to the opposite of the sleeping bag, Emma on top of him by the time his hands feel warmed by the heat at the back of her neck and the toes pressing into his shin are closer to normal human body temperature.

“Someone’s going to have a really good laugh about this in the morning,” Emma says into his neck. She kisses him again and on a whisper she says, “I missed your laugh, too.”

He chuckles and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a more comfortable position atop him. “I think it is morning,” he says.

They’re still laughing by the time the rain stops, and when morning really does roll around, Killian’s too tired and weighed down by her to do more than chuckle lightly, so it’s Emma’s laugh that echoes in the tent, wilder than the forest around him and happier than any sound he could’ve conjured in his head.

 


End file.
